


Sam (curiosity)

by kisahawklin



Series: Character Studies [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Plus some feels, Sorry about the tumblr tags but I don't have the patience to try and find anything else here, Talking, fluff fluff fluff and more fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Cas take it back to Sam's room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam (curiosity)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alpacapanache](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacapanache/gifts), [ayrdaomei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayrdaomei/gifts), [HeyJessie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyJessie/gifts).



> Part two to the Sam/Cas mostly talking fic. This one for every single person who had nice long characterization comment conversations with me.

~~~

"Have fun at your slumber party, girls!"

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean's hyper-masculinity. He's never minded the insinuations that he's a girl – like that's something to be ashamed of. He wishes there could be more women and girls in their lives. If their lives didn't get all their friends and loved ones killed, that is.

Dean's laughter chases them to Sam's room, but he doesn't care. Dean can call him a girl all he wants, but Sam's not in this for the sex. Or maybe only peripherally, because he has a feeling the sex is going to be pretty good. 

He's in it for the companionship. For the ability to talk to someone without lame jokes and confused faces and absolutely no (well, maybe a little, but only a little) eye-rolling.

And there's a part of him that is in this for Cas. When he first stumbled over Cas as an idea in his mind, one of several potential people that he might try creating a relationship with, Cas had stood out as someone that might need him as much as he needed Cas. 

Jody, while hot and smart and a damn amazing woman, certainly doesn't need him for any kind of validation. And he wouldn't want her to. But he can't deny the appeal of being able to help Cas in some way, maybe give him back a little of what Sam gets out of this. He likes the idea that they can be good for each other, maybe heal each other a little. He doesn't want to feel like a charity case.

So, Sam leads Cas into his bedroom, settles comfortably on the bed and lets Cas glance around nervously for a while before grinning and patting the bed next to him. "It's fine, Cas," he says. "We'll work it out."

Cas smiles at him, removing his trench coat before taking a seat on the bed. "Thank you, Sam." 

He looks a little on edge, and Sam wants to touch him somehow, something simple that might make him feel more settled, but he's not sure what that is. He hasn't touched someone like that in a long time, and he was never particularly good at it before.

He's pretty good with his words, though, so he says, "I kinda want to touch you, Cas."

Cas smiles, wide, genuine smile that makes Sam's heart ache a little. "I've never seen you smile like that," he says, because fuck it, he got into this so he could talk, and he's just going to let the words come out. "I hate that you don't smile more."

Cas's smile turns wry and he brings a hand up to Sam's jaw, his thumb tracing the corner of Sam's mouth. "I wish you would smile more too."

Sam can't help smiling then, a thin, sarcastic thing. Their lives weigh too heavily on them for the kind of smiles he remembers sharing with Dean when they first got on the road together. "Not that kind of smile," Cas says, and passes his thumb over Sam's lower lip and Sam can't help the breath he sucks in. 

"Can't help it," Sam says, though his voice is thready and thin. "Habit."

That brings out the sad eyes, and there's one thing that Sam has to lay down the law about first thing. "Don't pity me, Cas. I don't want or need your pity."

Cas drops his hand and nods. "It's not pity, Sam. I am sad about the ways you've been abused over the years, but I do not pity you. I simply wish something else for you. Peace. Rest. Love."

Sam flops backwards, staring up at the ceiling. There are a lot of things he wishes for himself, too, but he's learned not to trust his own desires. They never lead anywhere good. "Well, no use crying over the way things are," he says. "Wishing isn't usually a useful pastime."

"I see," Cas says, standing up. "Then perhaps I was mistaken in what I thought you were asking for."

Sam sits up like a shot. "What? No!" Cas has already made it to the desk where he deposited his trench coat. "Where are you going?"

Cas stops and turns to him. "Sam, if you can't accept my offerings of comfort, then I don't believe there is much else we can do for each other. Unless you would like to have an entirely physical relationship – though I thought you were being forthright about wanting more than that."

Wait, _what_? "I was," Sam says, standing because this is edging in on argument territory, and he needs to be on his feet for that. "I wasn't saying I won't accept comfort, Cas. I was just…"

He thinks about it for just a second. He's not sure what he was saying. That's just his automatic reaction – Winchester men don't want or need pity. They suck it up and deal with things the way they are. They don't need to be coddled. 

Shit, maybe he was.

Cas is looking at him coolly, patiently waiting for Sam to finish his train of thought. "Sorry, I… I just can't stand pity. I know things are tough, but…" He looks at Cas miserably, mentally begging him to understand. This isn't something Sam can put into words.

"Sam, I don't want to change the way things are." He smirks. "Though I could, if you wanted." 

Sam's brain shorts out at that; he forgets, sometimes, just how powerful Cas is. It's tempting, but he knows that Cas's grace is still diminished, and asking that might hurt him.

"I simply would like to offer you something to soothe you, make it easier to bear. I thought that was what you were looking for." Cas advances on him, and Sam automatically moves backward to keep the distance between them, at least until he hits the bed and falls down on it gracelessly, ending up half-sitting, half-lying down, sprawled over the end of the bed. 

Cas takes a seat next to him. "You said you want to touch me."

Sam nods, warily. He's still a little turned on by their kiss earlier, but he's got adrenaline from their near-fight now, and that doesn't usually translate into smooth bedroom moves.

"I desire to touch you too," Cas says, "though I admit a lack of knowledge about how humans touch each other. I understand hugging, though this position precludes that. Tell me other ways I can offer physical comfort?"

Sam grins. He hadn't even thought about hugging – or non-sexual touching. Hell, it's been so long since anyone has touched him without malicious or salacious intent that he can't even remember when the last time was. Amelia, probably. 

"Uh, we can hold hands, I suppose," Sam says. "But you can touch me any way you want. I'll let you know if I don't like it, or if it's… you know."

"No, I don't know." One corner of Cas's mouth tugs up. "You can assume I never know when you end a sentence with _you know._ "

Sam laughs. This is what he expected with Cas, this sort of exploration of their limitations. "I mean, if it's more sensual than comforting. Some touches are meant to lead to sex – and some are accidentally arousing. At least, the first time. After that, I'm going to assume you want sex if you do something that you know turns me on."

Cas nods. "Understood." He picks up Sam's hand and examines it, eventually putting his own up to it, palm to palm. "How do we hold hands?"

Sam interlaces their fingers and gives Cas's hand a squeeze. "This is one way. There are others."

Cas looks down at their hands, seemingly fascinated by the way they interlock. "Who thought to do that, I wonder?" He looks up at Sam. "The first time. Who looked at their hands and thought, 'these look like they go together'?"

Sam shrugs. "Common sense, I think. It's a human thing, to see how things can fit together." He laughs, because that is exactly how he came to this place with Cas, taking the pieces and people of his life and trying to put them together like a jigsaw puzzle.

Cas smiles ruefully. "And that is the basis of creativity. A thing we angels lack."

Sam hums, rubbing his thumb over the back of Cas's hand. "I don't know, Cas, you seem pretty curious to me. Especially for an angel."

Cas is staring down at their hands, watching the rhythmic motion of Sam's thumb with intense concentration. "Adventurous, maybe," he says. "Not curious."

Sam grins. Cas is always very careful with his connotations; he never says anything he doesn't mean, though he's tried to pick up some of their slang to appease Dean, usually with hilarious results. Sam will never forget the air quotes fiasco that made Dean laugh until he was sick, telling the story. 

"Well, I'm glad for that," Sam says, squeezing Cas's hand. "It's part of what sets you apart from all the other angels."

Cas shakes his head. "For angels, being set apart is not a good thing. Neither is adventurousness. Why is it that everything that endears me to the Winchesters makes me an outcast from my own brethren?"

Sam doesn't know what to say. The question is rhetorical, certainly, but he understands the desire to fit in and the inability to do so. "I'm sorry, Cas," he says, sitting up so he's on Cas's level. "I understand how hard it is to be an outcast."

Cas smiles at him, rueful and a little sad. "I know, Sam. And I understand your dislike of it. But I'm also glad you are what you are. You and Dean are exceptional examples of humanity. Even in your mistakes, you are grandiose. There is nothing ordinary about a Winchester." 

Sam grins. "Well, that makes you a Winchester, too, I suppose. You don't go halfway, either." He laughs, and Cas laughs with him, but it's sobering, thinking about their mistakes. Between them, they've cost many lives with their well-intentioned fuck-ups. 

Cas must feel the same way, because he drops his gaze, refusing to meet Sam's eyes and suddenly getting lost staring down at their linked hands, quiet and thoughtful.

"Hey," Sam says, putting his hand over their joined ones. "This is why I wanted this for us." He waits for Cas's eyes to come back up and meet his before he continues. "I know you'll never forgive yourself – neither will I – but you still deserve to be loved."

Cas comes in fast, pressing his lips to Sam's quickly and retreating. "So do you, Sam," he says. "But that only brings up another concern." He sighs. "Angels do not love. Not like humans do. Perhaps I am incapable of giving you what you need." 

Sam shakes his head. "You're perfect, Cas. I don't need sappy romantic gestures. I need someone to talk to, discuss things, who will be honest but not judgmental. You never make me feel bad for my mistakes, not on purpose. You acknowledge them, but you don't want me to feel guilty. _That_ 's what I need. And I think you could use a little of that, too."

Cas still seems doubtful, so Sam smiles and adds, "Spontaneous kissing doesn't hurt either."

The mischievous eyebrow is back, and Sam's glad for the turn in mood. He'll be happy to analyze every mistake either of them has ever made in depth later, but right now this is too new to spend so long talking about something so dismal. He scoots in a little closer, leaning forward and watching Cas's eyes travel over his face. 

"Remind me to ask you about your human form," Sam says, just before he makes it all the way to Cas's mouth.

Sam squeezes Cas's hand one last time, extracting his fingers from Cas's grip so he can run his thumbs up the tendons in Cas's neck – he has a feeling Cas's neck is extremely sensitive – and is pleased when Cas whimpers into the kiss a little. Sam presses just a bit harder, because Cas falling apart under his hands has suddenly reached the top of his to do list.

He'd spent some time thinking about gay sex once he realized he was serious about Cas, but it was more like Tetris than porn. How do two male pieces fit together? He didn't want to get too ahead of himself and look stuff up online, but he's starting to think that was a mistake.

Still, a body is a body. Start with their mouth and work your way south, that's what Dean taught him before he was even old enough to know what his brother was talking about. 

Cas seems to have a really sensitive neck, and when Sam stops kissing Cas long enough to run his tongue along it, he's rewarded with a low moan that makes his dick perk up. Turns out sexy is sexy, woman or man, and Sam's always been turned on by partners that enjoy themselves. 

He keeps kissing Cas's neck, his hands trembling as they try to undo Cas's shirt buttons. Then there's a whiff of ozone and they're both naked on the bed, their clothes whisked off to who-knows-where. If Sam wasn't horny beyond reason, he'd probably be pissed off at Cas wasting his grace on something like that, but the sounds Cas is making are enough to drive every other thought out of his head. 

Cas is so easy. Sam can hear how exactly what works and what doesn't in the way he breathes, the whiny exhales and occasional growls. The drawn-out whine when Sam pushes him down onto the bed, settling himself on his knees between Cas's legs, is a thing of beauty, immediately dwarfed by Cas's soft chorus of "oh oh oh" when he tilts his pelvis so his dick slides against the skin of Sam's hip.

"Fuck, Cas," Sam says, hoping Cas can get what he means in his tone because he doesn't think he's got any words left in his vocabulary besides "fuck" and "Cas." Maybe "jesus" but that just seems sacrilegious. 

Cas is getting into it, rubbing himself off against Sam and just the erratic motion is enough to put Sam all the way on edge, so he takes Cas in hand, hoping maybe it will soothe the jagged motion of Cas's hips, because Sam is too close, the sounds Cas is making, the way his body is gracefully curling under Sam's, and it's been so long since he's done anything like this, the smells and sounds and sensations so overwhelming.

"Tighter, Sam," Cas says, and fuck, he has to bite down on his cheek to keep him from coming, and he does it hard enough for him to taste blood. He grips Cas tighter and Cas's hands swipe down his body to rest on his hips as Cas repositions himself, jutting his hip up into Sam's dick. Two strokes like that, and Sam comes all over Cas's stomach, there's no helping it.

Cas groans like he likes that a lot, and his strokes into and out of Sam's hand speed up, his fingers digging into Sam's hips. Sam does his best to hold on, because the feel of his dick sliding along Cas's stomach in his own come makes him shudder with aftershocks. One of Cas's hands covers the one Sam has on Cas's dick and Cas's hips thrust a few more times before he's arching up, exposing his throat and saying, "Sam, oh!" and coming himself, shaking underneath Sam and breathing Sam's name over and over.

Sam kisses Cas, unable to keep in how thankful he is, about everything. About Cas actually being able to enjoy sex; about the sex being pretty good; about the sex being so simple that it leaves a lot of room for more later. And about Cas himself, willing to do these things with Sam, wanting to share himself in this way. He was right; he can love Cas. He already did, like family, but this is different. This is reverent and shy and something he hasn't felt since Jess, this awe that he can feel this way about another person and think they might be able to love him back, too.

Cas gently presses up on Sam's chest, pushing him up and then guiding him down to the bed at Cas's side. He smiles, Cas's strength obvious but not pushy. He moves, curling up a little because the bed isn't really big enough for him. No bed is big enough for him.

"I hadn't expected things to go quite that far, that fast," Sam says, eyes crinkling up happily at Cas's grumpy huff of not-really-laughter. "Where are our clothes, anyway?" He wants a t-shirt or something to wipe them down with.

"In the corner," Cas says. "I was impatient, I apologize. It just seemed expedient to be rid of any barriers to your skin."

Sam laughs, rolling off the bed and looking around at the corners of his room for the pile of clothing. Everything is neatly folded, a small stack on top of a pile of books. He grabs his t-shirt and comes back to the bed, wiping himself off on the way and turning it inside out before doing the same to Cas. "Does it take a lot of grace to do that?" he asks, because this is one of those things he wants to be clear on with Cas. He doesn't want Cas wasting his grace on unnecessary things if it will diminish him in some way.

"No," Cas says, "and I understand your concerns, but my grace is healing, and that was more than paid back in the joy you provided."

"Grace is healed by joy?" The idea makes Sam tilt his head at Cas. He didn't even think angels felt joy. Maybe a result of being in a human body so long.

"Souls as well, Sam, which is why I am so pleased about this partnership. Don't you feel better now, more whole?"

Sam smiles ruefully. He's been splintered a long time, he doesn't think sex, even pretty good sex with an angel, is going to make him whole again. "I feel good, yeah," he answers, because there's no point ruining the moment with the finer points of his fucked-up-ness.

He climbs back onto the bed, settling on his side next to where Cas is still lying flat on his back, and props his head up on his hand.

"So your human form," Sam says. "Have you…" Ugh. The idea of Cas wearing his meatsuit like a costume is enough to disgust Sam a little, though when he looks at Cas's body, it subsides. "Do you wear it all the time, then?"

Cas nods. "I could leave it somewhere, I think, but there is no need to. It can go anywhere I can go as an angel, and makes it easier to deal with humans and other angels possessing humans. Strategically, it seems unwise to leave it somewhere it might be possessed by another angel, anyway."

That all makes perfect sense to Sam, but still… "Are you sure you _can_ leave it?" Sam asks, because if he can't, that's a vulnerability. 

Cas shrugs. "I don't need to."

Sam lifts his head to look into Cas's eyes. That isn't the response he expected from Cas, and he wonders if there's something the angel isn't telling him. "Cas, don't you want to know one way or another? Don’t you want to know if you are stuck in that body forever or if you will eventually be able to discard it when you don't need it anymore?"

"No," Cas says. "I need it now, it seems pointless to ask questions about something that won't affect me for many years to come. Besides," he adds, rolling onto his side to face Sam, "I am not certain my empty vessel wouldn't have a mind of its own. It's a human body without a soul; we've seen that before."

The idea makes Sam even more curious to see if it's possible, but he wouldn't want to deal with the nightmare of trying to get Cas back into the human form if it decides it doesn't want him anymore. He wonders if Cas would need permission to enter… or if it would be against the rules, somehow. He knows angels don't possess the dead – or at least he thought he knew, until the news about Jimmy. He nods. "Makes sense. Best not to tempt fate."

"I'm glad you agree," Cas says. "Though…" He meets Sam's eyes, a calm determination there, like he's trying to reassure Sam. "I have wondered what it might be like for you to accept my grace."

Sam shivers. "Like possession?" He holds Cas's eyes, but he can't help the way his face screws up just thinking about it.

"Not exactly," Cas says, taking Sam's hand in his and lacing their fingers together slowly. "You would have to agree to let me enter you, but I would not take control of your body. We would simply exist within the same physical form."

Sam considers this. "Like Dax," he says, wondering if Star Trek was one of those things Metatron downloaded into Cas's brain. 

"Not exactly like that either, though the analogy is better than the angel/vessel relationship," Cas answers. "We would remain distinct, but we would have access to parts of each other we can't share when separated by these physical bodies. I could teach you to shield parts of yourself if there were things you wanted to keep private."

Sam stares at Cas. That's… unbelievable. He knows he's broken. It usually doesn't bother him too much (unless he's maudlin drunk or Dean's poking at his sore spots), but it's something he carries around all the time. No one else needs to know, he thinks. No one else wants to know what Lucifer did to him in the cage. No one else wants to know what his body did without a soul in it. No one else wants to know what kind of pain he went through with the trials. Those are all things he'll keep to himself forever because he doesn't even want to know it, so he certainly doesn't want to put it on anybody else. 

But Cas… Cas just offered to know all of that about him. And everything else. He can feel himself start to tremble. He was right about him and Cas. They're going to be so good for each other.

And he hadn't realized how badly he wanted to talk about some of that stuff. He remembers Dean sharing his time in Hell; reluctantly, of course, but he did it, and Sam likes to think it helped him at the time. 

"Sam?" Cas asks. Sam'd closed his eyes somewhere in the middle of his thought process. He can feel tears threatening and he doesn't want to have to explain why Cas's offer is something unbelievably precious. How does Cas not understand that simply offering such a thing is a more powerful expression of love than he's felt from anyone except Dean in his entire life?

Sam shakes his head. "I don't think you know what you'd be signing up for, Cas."

"I do," Cas answers. "Though I think perhaps you've forgotten some of my own mistakes." He feels Cas kiss his forehead and he opens his eyes to see Cas smiling at him with a warm, soft smile – another Sam has never seen on his face. 

"No," Sam says, thumbing the corner of Cas's mouth, wanting to etch that smile into his memory forever. "I want to know everything about you."

It's Cas's turn to look down. "I'm not sure you would be able to grasp everything," he says, "but you would understand it at least for the time I was with you. We could sift through the memories together and help each other choose what to keep."

Sam smiles, tears coming whether he wants them or not. Cas seems to understand, because he simply returns Sam's smile, and squeezes his hand. 

"We'll have to make do with the usual kind of sharing," Sam says, taking a deep breath and wiping his face. "At least for now."

Cas nods, solemn again, though Sam thinks there might be something a little impish in his eyes. "So what do you want to know, Sam Winchester?" he asks. 

It's overwhelming, the sheer amount of things he could ask Cas. He wants to know about the war in Heaven, Cas's time with all the souls inside him, what it felt like to be re-created after Sam ripped him apart. He can't choose what he wants to hear first.

"How about the time Balthazar and I had a practical joke war and shut down the power to all of Chicago when we laughed too hard?"

A surprised laugh is torn out of Sam and Cas smiles again, something that was so rare before that Sam briefly wonders if it was something Cas learned from the Winchesters or if their lives have always had such little happiness in them there was simply nothing to smile about. He returns the smile, passing his thumb over the back of Cas's hand and enjoying the way Cas's eyes dilate and his mouth goes into a surprised "oh" shape.

"Yeah, Cas, tell me that one."

~~~


End file.
